Samples from Cooking for Christ

I always say Cooking for Christ by Florence Berger is so much more than a cookbook. Even if you never use one recipe, the book is worth it for the wonderful family story she weaves. Some excerpts below are from Maundy Thursday, Paschaltide, and Ascension Thursday:

Maundy Thursday

Whenever I hear Peter and John asking the Lord, “Where wilt Thou that we prepare the Pasch?” I want to interrupt and say, “Come to our house, please do.” But even today we, as Catholics, can bring Christ and His friends home with us. When we receive the Holy Eucharist on Maundy Thursday, He lives within us. When we gather guests at our tables to re-enact the last supper, Christ is in our midst. For, as the antiphon of Holy Thursday sings, “where charity and love are, there is God.” There is a divine bond between our altar and our home.

On the night of Holy Thursday, commemorate the Paschal meal as it was served in the time of Christ. If your family is not large, invite guests as the Jewish families did in obedience to God’s command. The mother of the family first lights the festival candles and prays that “our home may be consecrated, Oh God, by the light of Thy countenance, shining upon us in blessing and bringing us peace.” At the place of each guest is a small dish of salt water, a plate containing Matzo, green bitter herbs, and Haroses. Haroses is a strange combination of apples, raisins and cinnamon resembling apple butter; it was eaten to remind the Jews of their slave labor in the brickyards of the Egyptians. Before the father’s place is a large bowl of wine because during the meal four different libations will be made.

After the blessing of the feast is given in a most beautiful prayer, the leader distributes the first cup of wine. Then he washes his hands. It was probably at this point that Christ washed the feet of His disciples. The green bitter herbs — wild lettuce, coriander, endive or chicory — are dipped in salt water and eaten as a memorial of the bitterness of Jewish slavery. Yet God is praised who gives us these fruits of the soil. Lastly, as a mark of charity and hospitality, Matzo, the bread of affliction, is given to all present with the words, “Let all who are hungry come and eat. Let all who are in want come and celebrate the Passover with us.”

As the cadences of the ancient Jewish prayers sound out we seem to hear the Christian liturgy with new ears. There is an echo and a change. The old law has found its fulfillment in the new. A second cup of wine is poured, and then the story of the deliverance from Egypt is told as it is written in Exodus 12. At this point the Paschal lamb is brought in.

You cannot serve a whole lamb roasted on a crossed spit in a modern apartment, but you can have lamb. Perhaps some time you may be privileged to attend a larger gathering at a Pascal meal as we were at Grailville last year. When the Pesach, or Pascal lamb, was carried in, a quiver ran through the crowd. No bone was broken and the spit was two crossed sticks. It was as though a lamb had been crucified. All the references to Christ as Lamb of God came rushing into our consciousness. Never before had the prophesies cried so loud. Never before had the signs blazed so brilliantly. Never before had we realized how Jewish we Christians really are. Lamb of God, have mercy on us!

As the different symbolic dishes of the Paschal meal are explained to the oncoming generations, we begin to understand that food is more than mere meat for the body. As cooks, our occupation becomes spiritualized. As mothers, we become proud queens in our kitchens. As women, we become the nourishers of man’s body and soul. God stooped to take bread and change it into His own Divine Person. With this visible act of love, He feeds and sustains us. So it is that love is expressed by the preparation and presentation of food. Do you see now why we need Christian cookbooks?

We, as Catholics, can sing again the Hallel psalms giving praise to God — not only for deliverance from Egypt, but from “slavery to freedom, from sorrow to joy, from mourning to festive day, from darkness to a great light and from subjection to redemption.” The unleavened bread of affliction has become the Bread of Life of the adopted sons of God. The bitter herbs and Haroses have been discarded because Our Savior has come; our mouths are now filled with honey and sweetness. The fruit of the vine has been sanctified and has become the Bridegroom at the feast. “Give praise to the Lord, for He is good: And His mercy endureth forever.”

Paschaltide

Holy Saturday services were always confusing to me as a child. I couldn’t understand why we should be sharing in the blessing of new fire, and a new Paschal candle, and new water when Christ still lay in death. Why, in the early hours of Saturday morning, should we pray, “This is the night in which . . . Christ arose victorious from the grave”? And again, “on this sacred night receive the evening sacrifice of this incense. . . . O truly blessed night.” Sometimes I wish they would put these ceremonies back where they belong — as a vigil service of Easter. The ears of children are sharp and quick. Once they hear the “Alleluia, Alleluia, Alleluia” at the Holy Saturday Mass, it is Easter for them.

As soon as the “Ite, missa est” sends them forth, they are racing home to prepare the feast. There are eggs to color and cakes to bake and bread to knead. There are shoes to shine and backs to scrub and curls to roll. There are flowers to gather and fruits to polish and baskets to hide. All things must be renewed at home as the fire and light and water were renewed at church.

In years past it was customary to re-light the family hearth fire with the Easter fire of the Church. There is a beautiful prayer which was recited as the home fire was kindled by the light from the Paschal candle. All food was cooked at this fire. How old the prayer is, we do not know, but in it pagan and Christian virtues rub elbows. This was used as a morning prayer as the hearth was lit to sanctify the day’s work in Christ.

I will kindle my fire this morning
In the presence of the holy angels of Heaven,
In presence of Ariel of the loveliest form,
In presence of Uriel of the myriad charms
Without malice, without jealousy, without envy
Without fear, without terror of anyone under the sun
But the Holy Son of God to shield me.
God, kindle Thou in my heart within
A flame of love to my neighbor
To my foe, to my friend, to my kindred all,
To the brave, to the knave, to the thrall,
O Son of the loveliest Mary
From the lowliest thing that liveth
To the Name that is highest of all.

When the day’s work was ended, when the family was safe bed and the tiniest one had been lulled, the mother would again turn to God as she banked the hearth fire for the night. As she piled up the ashes to hold the coals, her prayer glowed with simple trust. We can feel her weariness as she prayed.

The sacred Three
To save
To shield
To surround
The hearth
The house
The household.
This eve
This night
And every night
\Each single night.

Her fire was Christ’s fire struck from new flint on Holy Saturday and hers to maintain for another year. In the same way we bring home new holy water on Easter’s vigil.

But if all things were to be renewed in Christ’s resurrection, former Christians were doggedly logical. One of the things which they enjoyed most was food and that too found revivification. A friend and neighbor of ours described the ceremony of the blessing of Easter bread and meat as it was held in his country before the war. He was Hungarian and we almost starved with him as he described the horrible concoctions which made up the meal on Good Friday. Nothing having life was allowed on the table. Sauerkraut was served with oil, and he shuddered to think of it. Eggs were deviled and dished up in sour gravy, and he shivered to remember it. And noodles — his mother’s beautiful noodles which were sometimes smothered in honey and almonds — were blackened with plain ground poppy seeds, and his mouth puckered with the dryness. On Easter, though, each family filled great trays with good things to eat. There was lamb and sweet breads and cakes for Easter breakfast. The trays were covered and brought to church for the blessing. We laughed when he remarked that the blessing was absolutely necessary in order to save them all from gluttony. Why, their stomachs had been so badly shrunken after forty days of Lent that even half that food would have killed them — without the blessing. They begged God to bless their breakfasts that they “may be healthful food for Thy people who eat them in thanksgiving for the Resurrection of Our Lord Jesus Christ.” Did you ever think of a more pleasant way of giving thanks? That is, after all, why we feast. “Festivals and solemn times” are set aside in order that they should give thanks, and “should praise the holy name of the Lord and magnify the holiness of God in the morning,” Some of the food was given to the poor, some was eaten in common with the priest and some was brought back home as blessed Easter bread. Food, you see, is always an important actor in the drama of the Church year.

This Easter cake is very good with whole wheat flour. We always use a tube pan and, when the cake is iced with a nut icing, we insert a candle holder in the center. In this holder we place a decorated Christ candle — and we have the perfect symbol of the new life and light arising from the circle of death. Little things like this make the “Exultet” visible. We know that the angelic choirs of heaven now rejoice; and we on earth, in our little way, “also rejoice illumined with such resplendent rays and enlightened with the brightness of the eternal King.”

The idea of making cakes and bread and cookies in the form of a circle at Easter occurs again and again. The Swiss make a braid of dough in a circle just big enough to hold a colored Easter egg. And a very famous Easter cookie is cut with a doughnut cutter and called Easter wreath cookie. Another is rolled like a sausage and turned into a ring. As the Resurrection was our passport from death to new life so on each succeeding Easter we begin our immortality with the renewal of our baptism. Our Christian life is our heaven here on earth. It is the beginning of our eternity — our never-ending circle.

Cream shortening and sugar. Stir in whiskey. Add egg yolks and flour. Roll dough into long strip. Cut strip in five parts. Roll each short strip between palms of your hands until it is as thick as your little finger. Arrange circles on greased cookie sheets. Brush with egg white and sprinkle with sugar. Bake in a moderate oven (350º) for 15 minutes.

You can make these rich, crunchy cakes smaller in size and use them as Easter egg holders. If you are clever with your icing decorator, mark names on the cakes and you will have place cards ready made.

There have been many explanations of the custom of giving colored eggs at Easter. Each seems to have a germ of truth. A very practical soul has written that, since eggs were forbidden during Lent, they were colored red to symbolize Easter joy, and brought to the table. Others say that the egg is a symbol of new life connected with the baptismal feast of the Church. As new life is given the Christian in baptism, a new egg is given as a gift memorial. Some think the Easter egg is quite pagan in its origin, and heralds the return of spring.

The best description I have found was written by George Mardikian in Dinner at Omar Khayyam’s. As he argues, the egg has always been a symbol of the universe in the lore of pagan peoples. Eggs were offered to their gods as a sign of fealty. The shell of the egg represented the sky. The membrane was the air. The white of the egg stood for the waters, and the yolk was the earth. Early Easter eggs were painted red to show that the salvation of the whole world was bought with the blood of Christ. The whole universe has been redeemed under the blood of Christ. As time went on, liturgical symbols were added to the decoration, and then secularism painted them with Barney Google and Superman.

Christine and Kathy can pop the eggs in the dye pots even though it is a little hard on the eggs and the table. Freddie can do the larger blends of color; Mary and Ann do the finer decorations. Among all the bright colors, one egg is left white and scrolled in gold. On its side “Alleluia” is shining. As father hides the eggs, each little painter hopes to find the “Alleluia” because it means a prize of cake or sweets. One year the “Alleluia” was not found until eight months later. I was cultivating the saxifrage in the garden and there was the golden egg. Needless to say, I cashed in even though the egg was slightly “agey.”

One evening, Monsignor Hellriegel was describing the finding of the “Alleluia” egg in his family. The story was becoming more and more dramatic as his ten brothers and sisters were closing in on the hunt. Finally, by sheer good luck, he spied the gleam of gilt and he knew the prize was his. A little boy in the audience had been jumping to his feet as the story progressed. Now his hand was waving. He would have the floor. “Please, Father,” he interrupted, “and what was the prize?” That was the important point — for a little boy — and Monsignor had failed to describe the prize. All of his eloquence now went into the description. The prize was a luscious German sweet cake, large enough to last any little boy a week or so. It was covered with cinnamon and sugar and nuts and the center sometimes had a Stollen filling. Your egg hunt will be full of enthusiasm if you bake an Easter sweet bread for the prize.

Dissolve yeast and one tablespoon sugar in water. Cream butter, one-half cup sugar. Add eggs. Stir in yeast mixture and salt. Alternate milk and flour until the dough is moderately soft. Knead until smooth. Cover and let rise until double in bulk. Roll out in oblong strip one-fourth inch thick. Brush with melted butter. Sprinkle with sugar, raisins, cinnamon and nuts. Roll up length-wise. Place in circle on greased cookie sheet. Cut three-fourths inch slices almost through roll with scissors. Turn each slice partly on its side — pointing away from the center. Cover and let the bread rise again until double in bulk. Brush on beaten egg diluted with milk. Bake in moderate oven (350º) for 30 minutes. While still hot, frost with confectioners’ sugar icing and sprinkle with nuts.

You may not be a hungry little boy, but a grownup who prefers fewer sweets. Then you will enjoy the traditional Russian Easter bread called Koulitchy. It is baked in thin metal molds eight inches across and just about twice as deep. We used lard tins of that size. But the bread can also be baked in deep casseroles much like American spoon bread.

The meat for the Easter dinner has been traditional and tradition points to lamb. If your purse permits, serve leg of lamb. Young spring lamb has slightly pinkish bones streaked with red and the flesh and fat have a pink tinge.

Leg of Lamb

1 tablespoon sweet marjoram
Salt
Pepper

5-6 pound leg of lamb
12 whole cloves
3 tablespoons brown sugar

Stick cloves into lamb. Lay the lamb in a roasting pan without water. Sprinkle sugar, marjoram and seasoning over it. Sear in a hot oven (480 degrees) for 30 minutes. Reduce temperature to 300º. Bake until tender allowing 30 to 35 minutes per pound.

If, on the other hand, you feel that a cheaper cut of lamb is called for, buy lamb from the shoulder and serve Shish Kebabs cut in one inch cubes.

During the Middle Ages, each thing in the household was renewed at Easter. It was not only a matter of new dresses and bonnets and jerkins. Even the ordinary foods were rejuvenated. It has been a very old custom for eastern peoples to eat a sort of clabbered milk called Yogurt or Madzoon. The longevity of many Balkans is said to stem from this habit of eating about a pint of Yogurt every day. The milk is congealed by an inoculation of certain bacteria, and its sweetness is somewhat retained. Any Armenian or Persian or Bulgarian can give you a culture of Yogurt. It is highly recommended for a daily “pick-me-up.” My brother heard of it just after a serious operation and he is now an enthusiastic user.

As the Yogurt is made throughout the year, the culture is passed from the old supply to the new. On Good Friday, though, the entire batch is thrown away. Why? Because from Easter comes the renewal of life, from the Lord’s Resurrection comes our rebirth in faith, and from the pepsin of the stomach of the Easter lamb comes the renewal of Yogurt, the “strength drink” of men. How little we are of ourselves. How dependent we are on the One who made us. And how good it is to admit it.

As the preparation of the Easter feast continues don’t forget to go out into the herb garden and get your tansy. Use it in sauce or in pudding. The new herbs are searching for the sun. Some are plain, tipped like little arrows to shoot their way through the brown clods. Some are rounded like little spatulas to slice their way through rock itself. Some have stood as gray ghosts throughout the winter storms, and now their crabbed arms are growing green tipped fingers. But all have heard the news of the “Exultet” and are springing forth from the grave of winter to sing “Alleluia.”

Kneel on the cold earth as Mary Magdalen did in the garden near Calvary, and you will hear your name spoken by the Lord. “The Prince of Life who died” now stands at your side. He is dressed as a fellow gardener, but under the coarse cloth is “His glory as He rose again.” His message is the same. If His death is to be a victory, we must be born to a new life — a new life whose mark and end is love. If His blood is to redeem, we must “drive away all wickedness, cleanse all faults.” If his love is to cover the earth with peace, we must all “be of one mind.” Our answer is the same as Magdalen’s. There we kneel on the cold earth and murmur, “Rabboni (which is to say, Master).”

EASTER

When at last the excited murmurs of the children die in the silence of the night, we know that our real vigil with Christ is come. Young hearts were not made for long waitings. For mature Christians, who realize that Christ’s coming in glory is their crown or chastisement, this night before the rising is very solemn. Saint Augustine says, “This is the mother of all holy vigils.” “This is the day which the Lord has made,” feast of all feasts. This is the climax of the entire year with Christ. All other holy days are but “little Easters.” For if Christ be not risen from the dead, all other festivals are fallacy or foolishness. With the faith of Christ’s followers and the intuition of lovers, we women are ready for the Resurrection. Our lamps are brimming with oil. Their wicks are newly trimmed. Our homes are swept and garnished. “Behold I have prepared my dinner . . . and all things are ready.”

This Easter feast is the perfect time to introduce our friends and family to some of the beautiful liturgical blessings of the Church. While we have them together under our roof tree, within our upper room as it were, we can season our foods with the salt of prayer. “You are the salt of the earth; if salt loses its taste, what is there left to give taste to it?”

It is on Easter that such common things as bread, meat, eggs and fruit are blessed. These foods were formerly blessed at Church, as we remarked before, during the divine services. These are the cornerstones of our diet and yet how few have even heard, here in America, of the blessings which Christianize these material building blocks of life. As disciples of Christ we dare not lose our savor.

If the risen Christ is to be our Guest of honor at the Easter feast, it would be but proper to speak to Him at dinner in language designed for the Deity. That is what liturgical prayer is, isn’t it? As the Paschal lamb is about to be carved by the father of the house, he could speak to God, the Father, who has shared His beloved Son with us, and ask His blessing in these words, “O God, Who by Thy servant Moses didst command Thy people in their deliverance from Egypt to kill a lamb in symbol of Jesus Christ, our Lord, and didst prescribe that its blood be used to anoint their door-posts, do Thou bless and sanctify this flesh which we Thy servants desire to eat in praise of Thee. Through the Resurrection of the same Jesus Christ, our Lord, who liveth and reigneth with Thee in eternity.” How good and holy to celebrate Easter, the greatest feast of the Church year, in the spirit of praise, the true spirit of ancient Jewish and modern Christian feasting. Festivals and solemn times “should praise the holy name of the Lord and magnify the holiness of God in the morning.” That is why we eat and drink to the Lord.

As we sit at the table together with our Christ, how natural it would be for the mother of the house to rise and address Him, “O Lord, Jesus Christ, Bread of Angels, True Bread of everlasting life, bless this bread as Thou didst the five loaves in the wilderness; that all who eat of it may have health of body and soul. Who livest and reignest forever.” This is the second reason for feasting. We feast as a memorial to the past and for present strength.

To the children who sit at the table belongs the blessing of the Easter eggs. They have learned the symbolism of the eggs as they dyed and decorated them; now at the climax of the feast it would be both polite and meaningful for them to say to Christ, “Let Thy blessing, Lord, come upon these eggs that they be good food for the faithful who eat them in thanksgiving, for the Resurrection of Jesus Christ, our Lord, Who liveth and reigneth with Thee forever and ever;” Here then is the third reason for our celebration. We dine to give thanks as well as praise.

Then at last to the other guests we give the Easter blessings of other “produce and victuals” which may prove a “saving help to hymanity” and bring “health of body and protection of soul” to those who use them. If we no longer bring our food to the Church for the blessings, we can at least bring the blessings to our food in our homes. These meal prayers would be a grace fit for our risen King.

Ascension

Ascension Day is usually a beautiful blue day here on the Ohio and this year we all went fishing — not in the river, but in our own puddle pond. The tiny lake which we were able to dam up among our steep hills was stocked with fish about a year before. I suppose our catch of fish might be called a first fruit. Ascension Day has always been a day on which first fruits were blessed and eaten.

The Italians brought beans and grapes to church. These were blessed after the Memento of the Dead with the words, “Bless, O Lord, these new fruits of the vine which Thou hast brought to maturity by the dew of heaven, by plentiful rains and by tranquil and favorable weather. Thou hast given us this fruit for our use that we may receive it with thanks in the name of our Lord, Jesus Christ.” The grapes and beans were supposed to be used as a feast for the dead in heaven. At the Ascension, Christ, the first fruit of all men, opened up Limbo where the dead had waited. What a feast that must have been when Heaven’s doors were first opened! But beans and grapes are non-existent on the Ohio at Ascension Day.

The Armenians celebrated the advent of springtime and the Ascension by making a big pan of Dolmas. This is a special dish which uses the new leaves of the grape vine, stuffed with a delicious filling. These Dolmas were the same as those used during the Armenian carnival as a treat before Lent. It seems that the first leaf to sprout in the spring, or after a drought, or after a flood, is the grape. Therein lies another story told by Mr. Mardikian.

Noah had been sailing in his ark for what seemed an endless age, and his diet seemed just about as tiresome. The dove had brought a willow leaf back in his bill, but that had been days ago and muddy waters still lapped at the side of the ark. Suddenly the hull grounded — at the town of Nakhichevan, better known as “first stop.” The place was really a mess — nothing but slime and mud and sunken trees and vineyards. Suddenly the vines began to sprout. I am sure it was Mrs. Noah who came back with the first grape leaves, shaking them under the suspicious noses of her daughters-in-law. “And what do you intend to make with those?” they asked. “Don’t stand there,” Mrs. Noah insisted, “we have had no vegetables on this trip and we certainly do lack vitamins.” Then she sent them off for the other ingredients she needed to make Dolmas.

Fry the onions in oil. Add rice. Cook mixture for about 30 minutes. Stir in the other ingredients. Cook five more minutes. Allow the filling to cool. Place one teaspoon of filling in each grape leaf, then roll up the leaf. Line the bottom of a baking pan with grape leaves. Arrange the rolled Dolmas in the pan. Cover the pan. Cook in a slow oven (300º) for about 90 minutes. Serve cold as an appetizer.

I don’t know where the girls found all those things, but they did. Even grape leaves are usually non-existent on the Ohio at Ascension Day, so we save the recipe for later in the year.

To the Germans the feast of the Ascension spells picnic, too, but in quite a different vein from our fishing project. In the beautiful Mansfeld Lake district, villagers gather in congenial groups to drink a toast to their benefactress Countess Elizabeth. It seems that Elizabeth cut their taxes and tithes centuries before and the wonder of it has never left their memories. Now see how easily our legislators could win undying fame and gratitude. The toast is always pledged to Elizabeth on this day and the traditional liquid required is “Ascension Beer.” But neither reduced taxes nor German beer exist on the Ohio at Ascension Day.

Instead of following Italian or Armenian or German custom, we all went fishing. Freddie was our official worm digger and Ann packed the picnic basket. We set out near noon under beautiful blue skies; but before the first fish became foolish, dark clouds gathered in the east. Rain hung a gray curtain around us even though the sky still seemed blue above. Our holiday dispositions began to droop like the brims of our hats, and our spirits were as soggy as the sandwiches. We took shelter under a great shaggy sugar maple and tried to build a fire — not to fry the fish, because we had none, but just to console ourselves with some show of a picnic. Even that would not work for the wood was wet and an annoying down draft blew smoke in our faces. By this time the rain had turned from silver lace to dull dark suede. There was only one way out and that was to climb the hills and go home. As we were sloshing along, our official worm digger remarked, “Well, no wonder Jesus went up to Heaven on a day like this.”